


Bound

by Maloreiy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Family, Gen, Minor Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, No Romance, S&R:CRW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 18:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15419091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maloreiy/pseuds/Maloreiy
Summary: Narcissa chooses to go to the Order to save her family, and has to confront a truth about her definition of family.1st Place Winner of Round 4 of the 2018 Death by Quill Writing Challenge, hosted by The Slytherin Cabal. Winner of one of the Admin's Choice Awards. Overall Winner of the entire competition.





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2018Round4](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2018Round4) collection. 



> This story was originally written for Round 4 of the 2018 Death by Quill Writing Challenge, hosted by The Slytherin Cabal. The theme was **Incarcerous (Incarceration)** , and the pairing/characters I chose were **Narcissa Malfoy & Remus Lupin**. All stories had a word limit of 3500 words.
> 
> This story won 1st place out of the final 3 competitors, making me the Overall Winner of the competition. See my other works for my previous three entries in this competition.
> 
> I want to give a big Thank You to Ariel Riddle, who was my faithful alpha and cheerleader for this entire competition. Her support meant a lot to me.

****

 

****

 

**May 2, 1998**

The Great Hall was packed with people. She’d been loath to leave the side of her husband and son, the fear of almost losing them both still running like a fire through her veins.

But she'd needed something and so had stepped away, doing her best to ignore the wailing grief of those around her, and trying to avoid breathing in the scents of smoke, soot, blood and death.

She couldn't remember what she'd wanted now, because the sight of the tall, brown-haired man laid out in the Hall shocked her into forgetting.

Not the fact that he'd died, no, it shocked her that the sight of him, motionless on the floor, sliced through her with unexpected pain.

 

* * *

 

**May 1997**

Narcissa kept her head held high. She may need these people to achieve her goals, but she would certainly not cower before them.

It took some effort, but she refrained from pulling against the ropes of the Incarcerous that bound her to the chair.

She did shift slightly to take stock of her surroundings.

The room appeared to be in an abandoned shop. The crumbling walls—paint and paper peeling off—were lined with shelves that had once held inventory but now were covered with dust.

The creaking of wood and metal alerted her when the door, locked from the outside, began to open.

At first, she couldn’t see anything with the glare of the light in her eyes, but then a man’s form came into view. He didn’t close the door behind him, but she heard the sounds of the locks being put back into place.

He was a simple-looking man with shabby clothes. Brown hair, brown eyes—nothing particularly interesting or intimidating about him. He seemed completely unassuming and would likely blend into a crowd with ease.

But Narcissa felt her heartbeat triple, even as she looked at his friendly smile.

They’d sent the werewolf.

And they’d locked her in with him.

The full moon was still far off, but Narcissa had seen enough evidence with her own eyes of what werewolves did to their victims—what with Greyback a constant visitor at the Manor—that she couldn’t help the skittering of fear that went down her spine.

“Do not worry.” He was still smiling. “I am well in control of my beastly half, Mrs Malfoy.”

The words, delivered gently as they were, did very little to reassure her. Ruthlessly, she pushed down the images in her mind of Greyback, in human form, biting the finger off of a Death Eater. She didn’t have time to be sidetracked by her own fear.

“Mr Lupin,” she greeted him, since it was pointless to pretend that she did not know who he was. She was pleased that her voice came out as strong and stiff as her spine was. “As I mentioned to your associate, I have important matters I wish to discuss with a representative of the Order who has the authority to make decisions on behalf of the Order. Have I finally reached the right person?”

Lupin didn’t say anything, though he did pull over a chair so that he could sit down, almost companionably, near her. When he finally spoke, he didn’t answer her question.

“Mrs Malfoy, where did you learn the code phrase that you revealed to us? Who gave it to you?”

She’d known they would want to know that. But the truth was that she didn’t know. She’d been given a scrap of paper, a secret message. The message had informed her that Draco’s mission was in jeopardy, and that if she wished to gain protections for her family, she should seek out the Order immediately.

She had her suspicions about who sent it. Perhaps the Unbreakable Vow that bound him had prompted him to give her such instructions. If Draco’s mission was indeed in jeopardy, and if the ‘black hawk’ from the code phrase was the man who would need to take drastic measures to fulfill his Vow, then Narcissa’s family was in grave danger. Even more so than the danger they lived in every day with the Dark Lord in residence at the Manor.

She’d deliberated with herself for several days, wondering what possible connection Snape could have with the Order, whether or not she was walking into a trap, and whether or not she could really save her son if she turned against the Dark Lord—the most powerful being she’d ever known.

In the end, of course, she had gone. In her desperation, she saw no other way.

The barest minimum of these things she relayed to the werewolf who sat in front of her. Her suspicions on the identity of the source of the code, she was particular not to reveal.

“I see,” Lupin said, when she finished, though it was clear he was not convinced. “And how can we help you, then, Mrs Malfoy? You’ll forgive us for mistrusting your intentions when it is a well-known secret that You-Know-Who favors your family most particularly.”

“I told you,” Narcissa said, her nose rising haughtily in the air, “the Dark Lord’s attention on my family is dangerous. I fear for the life of my son. My understanding is that your….Order of the Phoenix… could possibly give my family protection, in return for some favors.”

She saw his eyes spark at her words but was surprised when he said nothing about what she had to trade for protection.

“And how is young Draco?” Lupin asked instead, his tone kind.

The question took her aback, before she remembered that the man in front of her, werewolf though he might be, had taught her son at Hogwarts for an entire year. Draco had once begrudgingly admitted that he’d learned for more from Lupin than he had from any other DADA teacher before or since.

Her first instincts were to refuse this man any further information about her son. But she swallowed down the instant suspicion, reminding herself that the Order was full of self-righteous Gryffindors who believed it was their care and concern for people that made them strong.

She forced her eyes to look at the ground. “He is unwell. He labors under the task the Dark Lord set him. Every setback and failure places him closer to the Dark Lord’s wrath, and I fear he will soon crumble under the pressure.”

She’d meant to play on this man’s sympathies, but as she thought of the last time she’d seen her son—so wan, a shadow of himself with a spectre of dread hanging over his every movement—she did not have to fake the catch in her voice. The shock of seeing him so different, the pain of realizing how close to the precipice he really was, had been enough to cause her to consider previously unpalatable options.

“If he fails, he dies. If he succeeds, his life is still not guaranteed, as the Dark Lord’s mercy is spurious at best. I seek a safe place for my family. A way to remove my son from danger. A way for us to …” Her voice trailed off as she hesitated. Saying the words out loud would be committing to them, and should evidence ever reach back to her Lord, her own life would be forfeit—and then she could protect no one. But there was no choice. There was no way The Order would help her if they did not believe she was committed to a course of action they could rely upon. “A way for us to escape the Dark Lord.”

The treasonous words rang in the air, and she realized her life was in the hands of the werewolf in far more ways than just her physical vulnerability at being trussed up and locked in a room with him.

Lupin’s face did not change as he watched her, and she once again resisted the urge to strain against the ropes.

Finally, he said, quietly, “There is only one way for all of us to escape the Dark Lord. You realize that there are only two sides in this war, and both of them have the potential for death as the outcome?”

Of course she knew that. She wasn’t a fool. The odds of the Malfoys coming out of this war unscathed were astronomically low. But there was the chance they could come out alive, and she was going to do everything she could to increase those chances. Even if it meant swallowing her pride and consorting with Mudbloods, blood traitors, and half-breeds. And werewolves.

“Mr Lupin, I can assure you that I have fully weighed the consequences of my actions. I do not make this decision lightly, and I do not enjoy what the circumstances require of me. But please believe me when I say that my family is my top priority. I will do whatever is demanded of me to ensure their safety.”

At her words, his eyes suddenly appeared sad. “Your _family_?” He seemed about to say more, but then he shook his head.

“The Order may be amenable to working with you, Mrs Malfoy,” he said, abruptly very formal again, “though it will take some time for us to understand your situation, and to form what plans we will need. I have more questions for you.”

She had expected no less. “I understand. May I have the ropes removed so that I can be more comfortable while we discuss specifics?”

He ignored her request. “Tell me what you know of Draco’s assignment for You-Know-Who.”

 

* * *

 

**August 1997**

Over the months that they’d been meeting, the protocol—the room, the spell, her contact—was always the same. She gave them information that she had carefully culled from overheard conversations between the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, and Mr Lupin gave her assurances that the Order was doing their best to use that information to bring about his defeat.

Today, she had another thing on her mind.

“I understand Congratulations are in order.” She didn’t hear the bitterness in her words until they seemed to hit the brown-haired man like a slap in the face.

His expression did not radiate the joy of a newlywed, and she thought for a moment that perhaps her information was wrong. But the news had come directly from the Dark Lord himself, and the werewolf in front of her was not denying it.

In the face of his silence, she pushed.

“You never told me that you were dating my sister’s daughter.”

At her words, his face hardened—the first time she’d really seen anger there before. “I had no reason to think that information regarding Andromeda _Tonks_ ’ daughter was relevant to you, Mrs _Malfoy_.”

The way he emphasized their last names—the ‘Black’ conspicuously absent from both—caused her to grit her teeth. As if Dromeda had stopped being her sister, just because she’d been burned off of the family tree.

That was how it was supposed to work, but bonds between sisters do not fade so easily.

Dromeda had been her favorite sister—the sister that was closest in age to herself. Where Bella had always been angry, impulsive, and just barely this side of crazy, Dromeda had been steady, reliable, and a safe haven for Narcissa when the pressures and the expectations of the prestigious Black family had seemed too much to bear.

She had been disgusted and disappointed when Andromeda had begun seeing Ted Tonks. How she could possibly be interested in a Mudblood—how she could throw away her entire family’s legacy for him—had been completely beyond Narcissa’s comprehension.

Narcissa had been saddened by the ritual that disowned her, but it seemed only right at the time. How else could the noble House of Black continue to espouse their high standards of blood purity?

But sometimes, she’d felt twinges of sentiment.

Like when she’d heard that Andromeda had given birth to a daughter.

Though she shouldn’t have felt the desire to hold the babe that was of her flesh and blood, she had, and so she had almost, _almost_ sent the owl.

But everyone had to make their choices and live with them. Andromeda had chosen Ted Tonks. Narcissa had chosen her family, and all the things she’d been raised to believe in.

Years later, when she finally managed to conceive and birth a Malfoy heir, the thought had passed fleetingly through her mind that it was just a little too late. Her son would never get the chance to go to school with his cousin, and Narcissa would never get to hear stories, even secondhand, of her only niece.

The grief and the guilt surfaced at odd times, gnawing at her in a quiet moment.

Perhaps she’d chosen to stand behind the wrong sister. The wrong family. The wrong standard for love.

The fear kept her up at night that maybe her own beloved son would pay the price for that mistake, that lack of foresight.

The emotions balled up together into resentment at this man in front of her.

“I have cooperated in every way that you have asked of me. I’ve answered your questions. I’ve suffered the indignities of this ridiculous Incarcerous spell. And you allowed me to be shocked by information regarding my own family at my own dinner table.”

“Do not pretend that you consider my wife as any kin of yours.”

She gathered her breath to protest, but he didn’t give her the time to speak.

“You never once asked about her, or I would have told you!”

The truth stung. He was correct, of course. She’d never even bothered asking—not about her niece, not about her sister.

She should have, though.

The grief and the guilt and the fear was all thick and new in her throat again.

The only child of her favorite sister had gotten married, and she hadn’t been there to see it. She didn’t even known the young woman well enough to picture her in her wedding robes.

When she didn't respond to Lupin’s accusation, he turned the conversation to the reason he'd been sent to speak with her. She allowed them both to ignore the topic and focus on the business at hand.

But at the end, she couldn't stop herself from mentioning it once more.

“Be sure to give Mrs Lupin my Best Wishes.” She couldn't help the stiffness. Her niece had married a werewolf, after all. Even though she knew Lupin was nothing like Greyback—these weeks had made that very plain—she couldn't help the feeling of disgust that rose in the back of her mouth.

But she said the words anyway, because it was customary. And because somehow this small thing seemed important.

Remus stared at her, and Narcissa flexed the ropes under his gaze, thinking how glad she would be to be free again.

“I'm afraid my wife and I have separated. For the sake of her and the baby, I felt it best that we maintain a distance. Unfortunate though that may be, I'm sure _you_ can understand why a werewolf in the family is a far too dangerous thing.”

A baby. There was going to be another baby.

She should have felt the same disgust for the half-breed child of a werewolf that she'd felt only moments ago when considering the werewolf himself. But no, she couldn't.

Purebloods were so rarely blessed with babies, and her sister was going to be a grandmother!

She strained at the ropes, unable to help herself, and thought for a moment there was slightly more give in them. Perhaps the Incarcerous had been looser this time.

“No, Mr Lupin.” She surprised herself by snapping at him. “You will need to explain to me how a man leaves his wife and unborn child so soon after committing his life to them.”

He was taken aback, as he'd probably been expecting her to agree with him.

She was shocked to find that she did not. “I am surprised the beast inside of you could leave your mate at such a vulnerable time.”

“It is that which makes me thus, that also makes her vulnerable!” he argued, clearly upset.

“You are nothing like Greyback, if that is what you fear. I have seen his own beastly nature, far more closely than I should ever wish. And the thing that lives inside of him—that drives him, that consumes him—is a monster.” She hesitated before making her next pronouncement. “You are not.”

“That is not a chance I am willing to take.”

She sniffed. “Even a Gryffindor’s bravery can fail him, I see.”

For a moment she thought she'd pushed him too far. The silence stretched on in the room as he stared at her.

Who was she to tell him what to do with his life?

But her niece…and the baby…her heart clenched, thinking of them—thinking of the sister she'd already failed in so many ways.

Then his lips twitched, a tiny thing she might not have noticed if his mustache had not reflected the movement.

“You are not the first to tell me so, Mrs Malfoy,” he said, with a hint of humor in his voice. “Another…friend…has made similar arguments.” He looked at her again before sighing. “I am rethinking my position.”

She sniffed again, trying to ignore the feeling of triumph that streaked through her.

She chose not to respond. She pulled at the ropes, instead. “If we are done, then, may I be freed now?”

He gave her a strange look before saying, “I certainly hope so.”

 

* * *

 

**May 2, 1998**

What little she knew of him had come from those short meetings. She knew he was a werewolf—but also a decent man, intelligent and kind. And she knew he was married to her sister’s daughter.

Narcissa had not realized in those few short months that she'd elevated that connection in her heart. He was the _father_ of her sister’s grandchild. And now he was dead.

Overwhelmed, she made to turn away…and then she caught sight of the smaller body laid out next to his.

The room spun. She heard a wailing scream in her head, an insistent denial.

She wondered if it was echoing in the room as well, because it was so loud she could think of nothing else.

But no, no one had even noticed her standing there, unmoving, staring at a head of pink hair.

Narcissa was bound again.

The ropes of that ever-present Incarcerous weighed down her limbs and her soul, telling her to walk away, telling her that _these people_ were no business of hers. They were casualties, traitors to the House of Black—they were not family.

But how could she deny it, when the soft features of the woman’s face reminded her of her beloved sister’s when she used to lay sleeping?

How could she pretend that her heart wasn't sliced open, knowing that the only time she had been close enough to see her niece, she had been too late to see any light of recognition in her eyes?

How could she take comfort in the superiority of something as meaningless as blood status, when so much blood was spilled all around her?

How could she look at the love between the young woman and the werewolf—reminiscent of another young woman she remembered, and a Muggle-born who would do anything for her—and tell herself that their love was less, when even in death they seemed to reach for each other?

But how could she step forward and acknowledge them, when others might see?

The guilt and the shame was another layer of ropes squeezing all the breath out of her, telling her she could never be free.

No matter what she did, she could never undo this. She could never turn back the clock and tell her sister she loved her more than her choice of a husband. She could never hold her sister’s child in her arms and share the joy of motherhood.

 _Turn away, turn away_ , a voice chanted in her head.

But she took a step forward, instead, pushing and straining against the ropes that held her back.

 _Too late, too late_ , the voice insisted.

But she gained strength with each step. The ropes felt looser, so she pushed and pushed until finally she could kneel beside that pink hair. Close enough to trace a finger down the cheek of a child she'd never known…but thought she might have loved, anyway.

Gently, she reached for the young woman’s hand, and moved it just a few inches, to place it together in the hand of the man beside her—the man whose face looked far more peaceful in death than she had ever seen it in life.

She hoped their struggles were over.

When she stood, she thought she felt a weight lifted from her.

For the first time in years, Narcissa felt free.

**Author's Note:**

> S&R: Constructive Reviews Welcome (CRW), meaning all reviews welcome, including constructive criticism.
> 
> Special Thank Yous:  
> *To torigingerfox as the Admin in charge of this competition, for her work on the banners, as well as for her support and her suggestions when I was struggling during the entire final round.  
> *To ElleMartin for her choice to pick my story as her Admin Pick of the favorite story of the competition.  
> *To SeptimaBode for all those conversations we've had about canon events, without which I would not have been able to piece together a timeline for this story. And all the times she told me to write, or to eat, when I needed to do one or both of those things.


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